Little Monster Boy
by IrishRoulette
Summary: A little shy, and sad of eye, but very wise was he.--Nat King Cole. A look into the early life of Walter J. Kovacs, and the impact of his babysitter who saw him as more than just a whoreson. No romance here.
1. There was a boy

**I do not own Watchmen, or any of Alan Moore's characters that appear in this story. I only own Sonja and her family, and am not making any profit off of this story.**

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Sonja Hamal was attempting to complete her history homework for the next day before she had to go pick up her little brothers from their friend's house. Her youngest sister was asleep in her crib across the small living room, dreaming of elephants and princesses that lived in storybooks. Sonja wished she could be two years old again, back when she wasn't expected to act as a second mother while her parents were at work in the restaurant they owned.

The phone rang, disturbing her rare bubble of concentration. She sighed in exasperation and got up quickly to answer it, pushing stray pieces of her black hair out of her face as she went. Expecting to hear her little brother Amrit's voice asking to be escorted home, she was surprised to hear a woman on the other end. "No, now be quiet!"

"Hello?" Sonja asked hesitantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Hi Sonja, this is Sylvia Kovacs from the third floor. Listen, I was wondering if you'd be willing to babysit my son Friday night while I visit my sister. Normally he'd be all right by himself, but I'll be out until late and I'd like someone there to keep an eye on him."

Sonja glanced at the calendar before she said, "Uh…I need to double-check with my parents, but it should be all right. What time would you like me to come down?"

Mrs. Kovacs replied, "I'll be leaving at six, so if you could come by a little bit before then, that'd be great. Just let me know if anything comes up, otherwise I'll be seeing you on Friday."

"Thank you, Mrs. Kovacs," Sonja said before she hung up. She made a note on the calendar, feeling sad for Mrs. Kovacs' ten-year-old son Walter. The little redhead always looked dejected when Sonja passed him in the apartment complex, and he never had any friends with him. Whenever she said hi to him, he answered as if alarmed that someone was paying attention to him. And people around the building whispered that Mrs. Kovacs was a prostitute, which added to Sonja's pity for the little boy. Maybe she'd be able to get him to have some fun by playing games that her little brothers enjoyed.

Her parents had no problems with her babysitting job on Friday and asked how much Mrs. Kovacs had offered to pay. Sonja admitted that she hadn't asked, just assumed that she'd be paid whatever the woman could afford. Her father frowned at her answer and commented, "Woman is a cheapskate who cheats on her rent. Don't let her walk all over you."

On Friday evening at five fifty, Sonja knocked on the peeling door and heard shuffling inside the apartment. The door swung open and Mrs. Kovacs loomed over her, fumbling to get an earring in and missing one shoe. "Oh, nice to see you! Come in, I'm almost through getting ready…"

Sonja entered the apartment and was immediately hit by a cloud of cheap perfume and old dishwater. She shifted her bag on her shoulder, in which she'd packed board games and cards to keep Walter occupied. The small rooms she could see were in disarray, with various items of clothing strewn about on the furniture, the window shades crooked and drawn to different heights, and unwashed dishes sitting on the dingy coffee table. True, the apartments were for low-income residents, but her family made great efforts to make their home appear as clean and welcoming as they could. This was just…gross.

"Walter!" Mrs. Kovacs called out as she put her other earring in. "The babysitter's here!"

Sonja smiled at the boy when he walked in from the kitchen, studying her warily. His grey T-shirt was worn and had a set-in stain up by the collar, and his blue jeans were just as tattered. One of his toes poked through a hole in his right sock, and he clenched it as if he could sense her staring.

"Hi, Walter. I'm Sonja, remember me? I live two floors up," she said to him brightly, trying to draw a smile from his freckled face. Instead, his brown eyes shifted to the bag.

"What's in there?" he asked.

"Here, I'll show you." She found a spot on the sofa that wasn't taken up by loose newspapers and sat down, putting the bag between her feet and opening it. She pulled out a deck of cards, Pictionary, a kid-oriented version of Monopoly for ages nine and up, and Scrabble. Walter stood on the other side of the small table and studied each of the games as she set them out. Mrs. Kovacs shuffled about the apartment as she finished getting ready, but the freckled little boy paid no mind.

"I like Scrabble," he said, looking up at Sonja. "They had it at my school for a while, but then too many of the pieces got lost."

"All right, we can play whenever you feel like it. Have you eaten dinner?" she asked him.

He shook his head as his mother walked back into the living room, wearing too much perfume and with too much spray in her brunette hair. She handed Sonja a five-dollar bill and said, "It's not much, but it'll pay for a pizza if you'd like. I'll pay you in full once I get home, I hope that's okay."

Sonja stood up and nodded, slipping the money in the pocket of her pants. "It's no problem, Mrs. Kovacs. Do you know what time you'll be back?"

The woman glanced at the door and then answered, "Pretty late, I'd say around midnight or so. I hope that's not a problem."

"No, no, it's fine." Sonja said quickly.

"Walter usually goes to bed around nine on weeknights, but since it's a Friday he can stay up until ten." She smiled at her son, who merely lowered his eyes to the floor. "Well, if that's all taken care of, I'll be heading out," she announced, swinging her large purse over a wide shoulder. She bent over and kissed Walter on the top of his head. "Behave for the babysitter, okay?"

He nodded, unsmiling. "I will, Mom."

Sonja walked Mrs. Kovacs to the door, said goodbye, and closed it behind her. Once she could no longer hear the woman's footsteps in the hall, she smiled at Walter and asked, "Want to order that pizza now?"

He nodded eagerly but his expression remained the same. "Can we get mushroom? My mom hates mushroom so she never orders it."

She thought it peculiar that a ten-year-old liked mushrooms, but she enjoyed them herself and didn't see anything wrong. "Yeah, I like mushroom pizza too. I'll go call it in real quick."

The pizza would be delivered in half an hour, the man on the phone said, and then Sonja returned to the living room to find Walter sitting on the floor with the Scrabble game set up. He looked at her eagerly and said, "We can play while we wait for the pizza, right?"

"Of course," she answered, sitting on the other side. He hadn't yet picked his letters, but waited until she took hers first. They set to the game, and Sonja was surprised at how many words Walter knew, let alone how many he was able to spell out with his words. Within fifteen minutes, he had spelled out _prone, tern, myopia,_ and _aura_.

"Wow, you're doing really well so far," Sonja commented as she finished the word _bolt_.

Walter studied the board for a moment before he added a few letters to an unfinished word that she couldn't identify yet. "I like spelling. I'm still learning, but I don't hate it like math class or history."

She chuckled. "I don't like history either, and I get a lot of history homework at school. Do you do any writing, Walter? Like stories or poems in school?"

His ginger eyebrows furrowed and he suddenly looked unsure of himself. A thin finger, thin even by the standards of a ten-year-old, poked idly at a wooden _w_ and he didn't look up at Sonja. "Well…I had a journal for a little while. But my mom found it under my pillow and threw it away. She says writing is stupid."

Sonja frowned now. "Why would she do that?"

"I dunno, she says nobody can live by writing so I shouldn't even try. But it's okay. My teachers say I'm a good writer, so that's fine with me. You don't get grades on journals you keep at home, anyway."

"Yeah, but journals are where you can put your private thoughts down, in case you don't want your teachers to read them. I keep a journal and my parents know that it's my private thing. Maybe you could talk to your mom about it," she offered.

Now Walter met her gaze, his brown eyes hard. "I can't talk to her about that. I'll just keep a journal in my head."

Sonja, now genuinely unnerved by the little boy, waited until he returned his attention to the game and put a few letters down. When it was her turn, she spelled the word _tyrant_. Walter watched her the whole time, his muddy eyes blinking only a few times as they followed her hand. Her turn was over, and he looked intently at his letters. Ironically, he had enough to complete a whole new word. He did not grin or frown or look disgusted as he spelled out _whore_.

"Walter, that's…not a nice word." Sonja was alarmed at the derogatory term sitting on the board amongst benign words and articles. How did a ten-year-old know that word?

Walter looked into her eyes again, mahogany meeting ebony in a way that made Sonja's spine shiver a little bit. "It's what my mother is."

Her lips parted in utter surprise. It wasn't hard for her, a fifteen-year-old, to tell that Mrs. Kovacs was not a woman who earned her money honestly, but for her ten-year-old son to say it so blatantly was a slap in the face. She suddenly wanted to take his small hand and pull him out of the reeking, filthy apartment and take him somewhere, anywhere else. This little boy was not like the innocent children he went to school with, nothing like her own ten-year-old brother Amrit who loved dinosaurs more than anything else and would spend entire afternoons drawing dinosaurs out of borrowed library books. Now she knew why Walter's expression had unnerved her so badly when she first arrived: he had the mind of a much older boy, corrupted by his mother's indecent lifestyle.

"I know she is. The other kids in the apartment call me 'whoreson' because that's what their parents told them I am. They say that she goes out with men for money and I've seen them here sometimes. But they never come back. She told me that after my dad left, she was stuck with no money and then I was born. When I'm old enough, I'm going to find him and live with him." Walter spoke with such blatant disinterest, like he was discussing the weather section in the newspaper, that Sonja was left completely speechless.

He frowned now, looking slightly concerned at her lack of response. "Are you okay, Sonja?"

She bit her lower lip and nodded. "I'm sorry, Walter. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"No, not really. I mean, if my mom ever has to go out again, you could come and babysit like this. It's nice not having her in the apartment sometimes." The little boy shrugged when he said it, admitting that he was powerless to his mother's rule.

"Okay." Sonja returned her attention to her Scrabble letters, suddenly not wanting to play anymore but knowing that it was normal and that was what Walter needed in his life. When the pizza arrived shortly later, he won the game without her going easy on him.

They ate their mushroom pizza in the kitchen, on top of a scratched and gouged table made of linoleum and cork. Walter gorged on the pizza like he hadn't eaten in a week, scarfing down four slices and a tall glass of water before he was full. Sonja managed two, and then put the remaining two slices on a paper plate under aluminum foil to stay in the fridge. Hoping to brighten the boy's mood, she asked, "What would you like to do now?"

He didn't answer right away, but padded into the living room to examine the remaining games that they hadn't yet opened. "Um…how about Monopoly?"

Sonja set the game up and they rolled dice to decide who would be the banker. Walter won by two, and he set about dealing the money. They chatted idly as they played, discussing Sonja's parents' restaurant and Walter's love for doing jigsaw puzzles and newspaper crosswords. As much as the young boy said he didn't like math, he never showed any difficulty when counting out the Monopoly money or doing the additions and subtractions. Sonja wondered how she had never noticed him in the building before.

"I've been to your parents' restaurant once before," Walter commented, lying on his stomach with his elbows holding him up. "They have really good Indian food there. I didn't think I'd like it, but it wasn't as weird as I thought."

She chuckled, moving her piece across the board. "It gets a little old when you eat it five nights a week. They bring home leftovers for us because it's cheaper and faster than cooking new stuff. But if you ever feel like getting out for a while, I'd be glad to take you down there for lunch. My parents give us free meals if we go in."

A rare smile spread across Walter's pale face. "That'd be swell."

Not surprisingly, Walter won the game of Monopoly when he forced Sonja into bankruptcy after an hour and a half of playing. She was relieved when the game was over, never one for long board games, but Walter never looked bored or impatient. He took his time with rolling the dice and deciding on whether or not to buy real estate for his property, never changing his mind or calling for do-overs. And when he won, he didn't jump up and down like her brothers would have, but smiled and said honestly, "That was fun."

Once the game was packed up and returned to its box, Walter stood and said, "I should probably take a shower now. My mom said I have to take one tonight sometime before I go to bed."

Sonja nodded. "Okay, I'll be in here when you're done."

She pulled some homework out of her bag and set about to doing a few math problems as the boy got into the shower. Though she still felt the unreasonable urge to take him out of the apartment and bring him to hers, she was impressed with his maturity and calm logic. Though he lived in disorder and moral corruption, he was self-sufficient and not easily pushed over. _He'll turn out all right_.

Sonja didn't even fathom that the ten-year-old was standing under hot water that didn't always come, scrubbing his skin furiously with a bar of soap that didn't foam up easily. He rubbed and scratched to clean off as much of his mother's filth as he could, because she was gone for once and wouldn't yell at him to stop wasting the water. _Whoreson, whoreson, whoreson._ He imagined that her wrongdoings were swirling down the drain with the soap, leaving him innocent of it all. For once in his ten years of life, he was positive that he was innocent of their lifestyle, that he didn't cause anything.

He returned to the living room twenty minutes later, wearing a long T-shirt and pajama pants that were a few inches too short for him. His damp red hair stuck up all over the place, and Sonja smiled because now Walter was the epitome of youth, of careless boyhood that thought nothing of hair brushes or pants that were long enough to cover skinny ankles. She put her homework away and he said that he wanted to play Pictionary.

Because it was just the two of them, they adjusted the rules so that each player had thirty seconds to guess what the picture was, otherwise they didn't earn a point. Sonja used her watch to keep time after promising Walter that she wouldn't cheat to earn herself more time for guessing. Walter, though not a stellar artist, was quite talented at drawing what he was prompted, and Sonja was able to guess what the images were under the thirty seconds most turns. Sometimes Walter's pictures were a little too detailed, which cost her a point, but when he showed her what the prompt was, she understood immediately.

He was even more clever at guessing Sonja's drawings, even ones like _ukulele_ and _capybara_. Walter guessed five straight images on his turns and only missed _meteorite_ because Sonja drew many craters in the rock and he thought it was some kind of cheese.

"Jeez, you're really good at this game, too," Sonja told him when he correctly guessed _cartwheel_ in under fifteen seconds. She was sure she'd thrown him for a loop.

He shrugged and answered, "It's just everyday stuff. I see it every day, and you're good at drawing them, so it's not too hard."

They jumped at the knock on the door, both engrossed in the game. Sonja looked at the clock and saw that it was nine fifty, too early for Mrs. Kovacs to be back. She stood and made her way to the door, then warily looked through the peephole. To her immense surprise, Walter's bulky mother stood waiting to be let in.

Sonja opened the door. "Hi, Mrs. Kovacs. I didn't expect you back for a while."

The woman smiled, and Sonja didn't miss the fact that the lipstick she had been wearing when she left was now completely gone, and her hair was in slight disarray. "My sister's son got sick while I was over there…poor thing picked up the flu from school."

Sonja stepped back and let Mrs. Kovacs in, feeling a cold weight settle in her stomach when she saw Walter's face draw into an expression of woe. "Hi, honey. Did you guys have fun?"

He nodded, and then proceeded to clean up the Pictionary game. "Yeah, we played board games and ordered a pizza. There are two extra pieces in the fridge, but it's mushroom."

Mrs. Kovacs turned to Sonja and said quietly, "I hope he didn't guilt you into ordering mushroom."

Sonja shook her head. "No, I'm a vegetarian, actually. We agreed on it."

The woman looked relieved and said to Walter, "Well, that can be your breakfast or lunch tomorrow. As soon as Sonja leaves, it's time for bed."

Sonja helped Walter to put the board games back into her bag, and she swore that she could feel the bitterness and the anger emanating from him. She had been planning to let him stay up until he fell asleep and take the blame if Mrs. Kovacs returned to find him up past his bedtime. The young boy met her eyes once while they were packing up her things, and she saw the most heartbreaking loneliness in those brown orbs she'd witnessed yet.

She stood and watched Mrs. Kovacs walk into the kitchen and start to wash her hands. "Mrs. Kovacs?"

"Oh, that's right. Hang on a second, and I'll get your money," she answered.

"Bye, Sonja," Walter said, looking up at her as she swung her bag over her shoulder. He looked dejected, almost like he was holding something back, and Sonja knelt down and held her arms out to him. Walter accepted the offer and wrapped his arms around her neck, smelling like bar soap and the papery scent of playing cards. She could feel his ribs through the thin T-shirt.

She let the boy go, smiled at him one more time, and watched him go into his room down the short hall before she turned to talk with Mrs. Kovacs. The woman was drying her hands on a grungy dish towel hanging from the oven front. "Is ten dollars okay?"

Sonja nodded. "Yeah, it's fine. And I was talking to Walter earlier and he told me he sometimes has trouble with his math at school. If it's no problem to you, I could tutor him for free until he gets a better hold on it."

The woman handed her a five dollar bill and two singles, considering the offer. "Well, I don't mind, as long as it doesn't bother you. You can just give me a call when you want to come down."

"Actually, my parents own an Indian restaurant not too far from here. I do my homework there a lot and it's quiet, plus I get free meals. Walter mentioned that he ate there once and really liked it, so maybe I could take him down there."

Mrs. Kovacs nodded, and Sonja had a feeling that the woman wasn't really listening to her. "Sure, I don't care for ethnic food that much and Walter doesn't get out of the apartment a lot. I don't mind."

Sonja smiled at the woman, genuinely this time, and pocketed the money along with a scrap of paper on which the Kovacs' phone number was hastily scribbled down. "Thank you, Mrs. Kovacs. Have a good night."

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**A.N.: Hello there! I plan on updating this weekly, until it reaches the end somewhere around 6 chapters. Hope everyone enjoys it. ^_^**


	2. A very strange, enchanted boy

**A.N.: Thank you all for the kind reviews! I'm glad my story was taken well; I know OC's can be a touchy subject with some, but I assure you that she's not the "magical heroine" who makes everything right with the world and spellbinds the characters. Nellodee mentioned in a review the possibility of a future Gunga Diner, and while it crossed my mind, I've left the restaurant unnamed. I like to think that perhaps it inspired Walter's fondness for Indian food and later, the Gunga Diner itself. But that's just me. ^_^**

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Two weeks later, on a Saturday, Sonja knocked on the Kovacs' door and was faced with Walter when it opened. "My mom's sleeping, but she knew you were coming. We can just go," he said quietly.

They left the apartment complex and walked into the blustery cold of early March in New York. Sonja pulled her scarf tighter around her chin and noticed that Walter was braced against the wind wearing nothing but a jacket that was more appropriate for spring, and his small backpack. She was glad the restaurant wasn't far.

Once they arrived, Walter picked a booth to sit at and looked around the small restaurant with a smile on his flushed face. "Wow, I haven't been here in so long."

Sonja put her backpack next to her on her seat and shrugged off her heavy coat. "I wish your mom had asked me to babysit you sooner, then I would have been able to bring you here more often."

"She said she might bring me on my birthday, if I'm good," he offered hopefully.

She raised her eyebrows. "When's that?"

"March twenty-first. I'm turning eleven," he answered.

She made a mental note to get him a present just as Irene, one of the waitresses, came over. "Morning, Sonja. And what's your name?" she asked, turning to Walter.

"I'm Walter. I live in the same building as Sonja," he replied, a little shyly.

Irene smiled and handed them menus. "That's neat. Can I get you two anything to drink while you're ordering?"

Walter looked at Sonja with questioning eyes. She told him, "Get anything, it's all right."

"Do you have Coca-Cola?" he asked Irene.

"Sure do."

"Okay, I'll have that," he piped up brightly.

She jotted down his order and then took Sonja's request for lemonade. Once she walked into the back, Sonja said, "My parents hired her a few weeks ago and she's really great. I leave her a tip even though it's free."

"So we can stay here even when we're done eating?" he asked, studying his menu.

She accepted her lemonade as Irene returned. "Yup, as long as the place doesn't get full of customers. It never does, though, unless there's a huge business conference nearby or it's prom night. So we can stay here as long as you want."

Walter popped his straw into his perspiring glass of Coke and drank deeply. "I'm not having a lot of trouble with math, I just don't get fractions. And so far, I haven't had anyone to help me with my homework or show me how to do them right."

Irene waited until Walter finished talking and then asked if they were ready to order. Sonja ordered rajma rasmisa, and her eager companion requested coconut curry chicken. Irene smiled, took their menus, and went away again to give the order to the chefs in back. Walter continued on about how fractions were confusing because numbers were just abstract ways of counting things, and how could they be cut into pieces? Sonja honestly had no answer to his question, only that she didn't invent numbers and she certainly didn't understand quite how the actual number five could be cut into thirds.

She silently marveled at him, sipping her lemonade and listening to him talk about the frivolity of busywork in math class. Most ten-year-olds simply complained about how boring and dumb word problems were, but Walter thought his distaste out logically. He pointed out that once students could prove that they could find the area of a triangular garden, they should be done with it instead of doing ten different word problems on it in one assignment.

"I mean, I understand that it's a real-life thing. People need to measure their gardens and buy dirt. But I can figure it out if I ever need to buy dirt for a garden, so I shouldn't have to do those stupid worksheets every night," he explained.

Sonja shrugged. "Well, if everything in math worked that way, then you wouldn't have many grades, and if you got a bad score on a test, it would bring your average down."

His ginger eyebrows furrowed in thought for a few seconds, and then he admitted, "Yeah, I guess. But still, they could give out less."

Just then, Sonja's mother appeared with their plates, smiling warmly. "Good morning, Sonja, Walter."

"Hi, Mom," she replied, accepting her meal. "What brings you out here?"

She set Walter's plate down and said in her thick accent, "Well, I need to go buy more onions and garlic from the market. Irene was taking drinks to customers, so I brought your meals out. It's very nice to see you again, Walter. How is your mother?"

He unwrapped his silverware from his napkin and answered, "She's doing good. We might be coming here for my birthday in a couple weeks."

Mrs. Hamal smiled and nodded. "Well, I hope we see you then. Enjoy your meals." She squeezed Sonja's shoulder before she left, as if to tell her what a good thing it was that she was spending time with the little boy. Sonja glowed a little bit inside, thankful that her parents were not judgmental of Mrs. Kovacs' son.

She didn't expect Walter to finish his plate of food, but he took her by surprise. Even though she could have sworn that there was extra chicken on his plate, he eventually ate every last bit of it and drained his glass of Coke. She ate more slowly and still had about a third of her original meal left when she couldn't eat anymore, and Irene delivered a Styrofoam box when she came to take Walter's plate away. The little redhead sat back in his seat, cheeks flushed with the curry he had eaten, but looked completely content with himself.

Sonja set her box aside and asked, "Would you like to get started on your math homework?"

He nodded, pushing himself back into a regular sitting position and reaching for his backpack. They set about to his worksheets, which Sonja had seen numerous times with her little brothers. She didn't have to draw pictures for Walter or explain that fractions were like pieces of a pie, and once he studied the single diagram on his worksheet of a rectangle divided into twelve sections, he understood the concept fully. All she had to do was work out a couple of problems from each section and he picked up the gist of it very soon, learning by her example. Within half an hour, his homework was complete.

"See, my teachers don't do it like that, and that's why I don't get it," he said as he returned his folder to his bag. "Everything is like pies or apples or cups of flour, but I get what the numbers do. They're only ways for us to count stuff, but it's just multiplying and dividing."

"Well, I guess you have a style of learning that's different than your classmates," Sonja answered. "We should probably head back now."

Walter's face fell. "Yeah, I guess."

She knew he didn't want to go home and see his mother. Who would, honestly? They'd been gone an hour and a half, and Mrs. Kovacs was most likely awake by now. She had a suspicion that the woman abused Walter verbally, maybe even physically, and she was reluctant to bring him back right away.

"Actually, you know what? I have to go pick up my little brothers and my sister from a neighbor's apartment. You wanna tag along?" she offered.

He brightened up instantly. "Sure!"

Sonja left two dollars in tip for Irene on the table and hoisted her backpack over her shoulder. "All right then, let's head out."

They braved the winds outside once more, and by the time they returned to the apartment complex, Walter's freckled cheeks were flushed red once more. The apartment where Sonja's younger siblings were being watched was on the second floor, and she told Walter that he might have to keep an eye on Girdeep, her six-year-old brother, while Amrit carried their youngest sister Zhara. He agreed immediately, clearly grateful to have something to do besides going home.

Upon entering their babysitter's apartment, Sonja was greeted by five young children who jumped about and hugged her around the legs. In addition to her three young siblings, her babysitter also had two young ones of her own.

"Hey there, Sonja," greeted Marietta, her dark-skinned neighbor. "Who's this you've got there?"

"This is Walter," she answered, gesturing to the shy little boy. "He lives up on the third floor and I was helping him with homework."

The older woman laughed and scooped up her younger child, a squirming little girl. "I would've suggested you camp out here, but if you were doing homework, this wouldn't be the best place for concentration. Would you two like a glass of juice or milk before you head out? There's no rush; the little ones were having a ball."

Sonja glanced at Walter, who shrugged indifferently, probably still full of food and drink from the restaurant. "Sure, if you don't mind."

Marietta set her daughter down, who scurried into another room to join the others in whatever game they were playing. She poured two glasses of apple-pear juice for Sonja and Walter and they sat down at the kitchen table. They had barely begun to discuss everyday matters like school when Sonja's little brothers scampered in holding pieces of paper. "Look at what we drew! We made up dinosaurs and drew them just like in books!" Amrit exclaimed.

Sonja accepted the two sheets and studied them both. Amrit's creation looked like a bear with spikes and horns, and Girdeep's creature resembled a snake with six legs and a shark's fin on its back. "Those are really neat, you guys. Show Walter, too."

They took their papers back and showed them to Walter, who studied them and said quietly that he liked them. The little boys grinned and ran into the other room once more. "Do you want to join them?" Sonja asked the redhead.

He shook his head. "No, that's okay."

Marietta chuckled. "He doesn't look as rowdy as the other ones, but that's all right. Little Zhara was fussy earlier, but I gave her some peaches and she fell right asleep in the high chair. She's probably still napping in my room where the boys wouldn't wake her."

Sonja finished her juice and asked Walter, "Will you watch my bag to make sure my little monster brothers don't take it apart?"

He nodded and Sonja went to fetch her little sister. Zhara was thankfully not crabby at being woken up, but giggled when Sonja blew a raspberry on her pudgy stomach. She carried the toddler out and called for her brothers to get their things together to go home. They complained a little bit, but then started picking up crayons and dinosaur books with Marietta's children. Sonja returned to the kitchen with all of the children in tow, balancing Zhara on her hip.

Walter handed her the bag and she slung it over her free shoulder. "All right, Girdeep, you stick by Walter on the way back up, okay? We're going to head back to our apartment until Mom comes home, and then I'm going to bring him home."

Walter's brown eyes brightened at the mention of not having to go home right away, and Sonja was glad for it. Her mother always returned on Saturday afternoons to spend time with the kids, and Sonja expected that it would be another hour before she came home. She was reluctant to turn Walter back over to his ungrateful mother who wouldn't care at all what he did with himself.

Back at the apartment, Walter once again preferred not to play with the boys but contented himself with sitting next to Sonja as she sang nursery rhymes to a clapping, drooling Zhara. He even kept an eye on the toddler when Sonja had to break up a fight between her brothers, who were quarreling over who got to be in charge of the train set. She considered talking to Mrs. Kovacs about having Walter be a sort of "apprentice babysitter" when she was stuck with the kids for whole Saturdays. The freckle-faced boy was open to the idea and positively eager when she added that she would give him some of her meager allowance for his help.

"My mom doesn't give me allowance at all," he told her.

She shrugged, watching Zhara play with blocks out of the corner of her eye. "Not all parents do. I only get it because I have three munchkins to keep an eye on."

Walter frowned and poked at the carpet. "Well, she says that we don't have money for me to go out and waste. Sometimes she gives me money to go to the store, but it's never for stuff that I want."

"Hopefully your mom will let you help me out with watching the kids, and then you'll have your own money that you earned," she offered. A hopeful smile broke out across his pale face at that, and he nodded.

Mrs. Hamal returned right when expected, greeted by a toddling Zhara who stumbled clumsily to the door. "Oh, hello again, Walter. Nice to see you."

"Hi, Mrs. Hamal," Walter returned. "How was your day?"

She smiled and bounced Zhara on her hip. "It was busy at the restaurant, but thank you for asking. I see that you helped Sonja with watching the children."

He lowered his eyes, trying to hide the blush creeping from under his eyes. "Well, it wasn't much…"

"I appreciate it anyway, thank you," she praised.

Sonja stood up, followed by a shuffling Walter. "Your mom's probably wondering where you've gotten to, so I'll bring you back home now. I had a lot of fun, though, so we'll have to go to the restaurant again sometime."

"Maybe you could come with on my birthday!" Walter piped up, his eyes widening.

She smiled. "Sure, if it's okay with your mom. I need to talk to her about having you help me babysit, so it's not like I'm dumping you off and leaving."

They walked down to Mrs. Kovacs' apartment and Sonja knocked on the door. The woman called out, "Just a minute!" and opened the door after a moment, wearing a thin green bathrobe and a towel on her hair. "Oh, hey! Come on in; I'm sorry about this…"

Entering the apartment, Sonja was once again greeted by the smell of perfume and old dishes, but the perfume smell was less prevalent now. She didn't know if that was a good thing or not. "I just got out of the shower, don't mind me. Did Walter get his homework done?"

Sonja nodded, a little annoyed by the way she acted as if her son wasn't even in the room. Walter went to his room to put his backpack away, and she used her opportunity to say, "You know, Mrs. Kovacs, we had to stop at my apartment to keep an eye on my little brothers and sister until my mom came home, and Walter was a big help. I asked if he'd like to help me babysit on Saturdays, when I usually have to watch them for most of the day, and he said he'd like that. I'd even give him some of my allowance for his help."

The heavyset woman nodded, seeming untouched by everything Sonja said. "I don't mind a bit, as long as it doesn't bother you to have him around."

"No, not at all. He's a great help," she pressed.

"All right, then. Thanks again for helping him with his math. I barely graduated high school, and math was definitely not my strong point, so I'm not much help to him," Mrs. Kovacs said.

Sonja forced a smile. "It's no problem at all."

"Well, it was good seeing you. Sorry to have let you in like this, but our hot water just came back on."

"I know how that can be," she lied. "But I'll go say goodbye to Walter and get going now. Have a nice day, Mrs. Kovacs."

Walter's mother said goodbye and returned to the bathroom, shutting the door successfully after getting the hem of her robe caught in it the first time. Sonja found Walter in the living room, straightening up stray newspapers on the coffee table. "I gotta get going now, kiddo. Your mom said it'd be fine for you to help me watch the kids if you want to."

He smiled now, straightening up. "I'd like that a lot. You don't even have to pay me if you don't want to; I just like getting out of here sometimes." He said the second part quietly, as if afraid his mother would punish him for saying it.

"Don't worry, you'll get paid for it. It wouldn't be fair otherwise," Sonja insisted. "I'll come pick you up next Saturday and we can work on homework too, if you want."

"Okay. I can't wait," Walter said with a grin.

Sonja knelt down and gave Walter a tight hug, lingering a moment longer than the last time. She felt a genuine closeness to the young boy, in part because of his maturity beyond his years and also because of his eagerness to help her out. It was almost like he'd been part of her family for years, a third little brother. Mrs. Kovacs didn't know what a blessing Walter really was. _She doesn't deserve him._

"Take care, okay?" she said, ruffling his copper hair.

"Okay," he replied with a smile.


	3. A little shy, and sad of eye

**Hello again! Thanks to everyone who gave kind reviews or even read this; it means a lot. I apologize for this chapter being so short, but it was necessary to keep things organized the way I want them. It's sort of a transition chapter, because after this, things go downhill…**

The next Saturday, Sonja had so much fun with Walter that she forgot she was babysitting. They played with Girdeep and Zhara while Amrit wrote a report on dinosaurs for school (spending more time than necessary because of his sheer obsession with them) and Sonja noticed that Walter was really starting to open up. His eyes were bright with laughter and attention and he laughed out loud more than she'd ever heard him. Her heart swelled at how far he had come since they first met.

Once Zhara was down for a nap after lunch, Girdeep went to play with Amrit, and Sonja helped Walter with some more math homework. They chatted as they worked, eventually reaching the subject of Walter's upcoming birthday and Sonja's upcoming family trip to New Jersey the same weekend. She had hoped to join him for lunch with his mother.

"I'll still get you a present, don't worry about that, but I'll be out of town on your actual birthday weekend," she said to him.

He frowned, erasing a number he had written out of order. "You don't have to get me anything. And I can talk to my mom and see if we can go the weekend after, when you're home."

"I want to get you something, Walter," Sonja pressed. "Really. I'll just have to give it to you before I leave, that's all."

He sighed dramatically but couldn't hide the smile creeping across his cheeks. "Okay…"

They were quiet for a while, working through his math problems together, and Walter's facial expression slowly lowered until he looked quite downtrodden. Sonja was about to ask what was wrong when he muttered, "My mom keeps bringing men into the apartment."

"What?" she asked, hoping she had heard wrong.

"Well…earlier this week, I heard noises from her room, things like 'Ow' and stuff that made me think she was hurt. I went in there and she was with some man I'd never seen before. They were sitting on the bed together; she was in his lap but facing toward him. He got really mad and put his suit coat back on, then pushed me out of the way and left," he said quietly, not looking at Sonja.

Her heart was racing, throbbing in her throat and impossible to swallow. "And then what happened, Walter? Did you get in trouble?"

He chewed on his lower lip, appearing more like the child he really was. "She hit me."

Sonja's eyes bulged. "She _hit_ you?" she hissed.

Walter suddenly looked up and stared into her eyes. "What's an abortion?"

"Why?"

"She told me she should have gotten one when she yelled at me."

Sonja's eyes began to burn with tears but she turned away, hoping he wouldn't see until she could quell them. She wanted to barge into Mrs. Kovacs' apartment and _throttle_ the woman, throw her out the window, report her to the police…anything to get her away from Walter forever. Why would _anyone_ tell their child they should have aborted them?

"What is it?" he asked again.

She shook her head. "Walter, you're old enough to know what it is, but not if your mother said that to you. That's not right at all. She shouldn't _ever_ say something like that to you."

He looked very sad now, studying her shining eyes and the way her jaw was set more tightly than normal. "If it's bad, I don't think I want to know what it is."

Sonja set her hand on Walter's bony shoulder and said, "I'm going to talk to your mom when I bring you home. I'm going to tell her that she shouldn't ever hit you or say that to you again, or I can report her to the police."

"No!" he suddenly exclaimed, face white with terror. "She told me that if the police hear about it, I can get taken away! I don't want that; strangers think I'm stupid and treat me like some dumb little kid."

"Walter…"

"Please, don't. It's okay when I don't make her mad. And now I can help you babysit, so I don't have to spend Saturdays by myself anymore."

Her heart melted into bitter syrup, every instinct telling her to march him down to the police station. But she nodded and took her hand away. "I am still getting you a birthday present, Walter. And if she doesn't take you out for lunch, I will."

He offered a sad smile, as if trying to tell her not to worry. "Thanks."

That night, Sonja told her parents what Walter had told her. She expected alarm from them, but her father only shook his head sadly. "She is an indecent woman. She does not deserve to have him around if she doesn't want him, but the foster system is not much better. All we can do is support Walter if he needs a place to stay, give him something to look forward to."

Her mother nodded in agreement. "He is a sweet boy. Has he ever gotten paid for anything before? He looked so surprised when I actually gave him money for helping you watch your brothers and sister."

Sonja shook her head. "No, she's never given him an allowance or anything. I don't know what to _do._ I want to help him, or make Mrs. Kovacs stop treating him like that and get a real job, but I don't know what I can do."

"There is nothing you can do," her father said grimly. "Just treat him well, and that way he has a better chance of growing up to be a better person than with only his mother raising him."

* * *

The day before Sonja left on her family trip, she visited Walter to give him his present. Mrs. Kovacs was lying down in her room with a headache and hadn't even answered the door. Sonja sat on the grungy couch with the boy and handed him a wrapped box.

"Happy early birthday," she said as he unwrapped it slowly, as if afraid to damage what was inside. He lifted out a small journal with a brown leather cover and a box of new pencils, eyes wide with disbelief. The journal had a little lock on it with two keys included.

"That way, even if she finds it, she won't be able to open it," she said quietly. "But maybe you can hide it somewhere else this time."

"I won't ever let her see it," he whispered, wrapping his small arms around her neck. "Thank you so much, Sonja."

She didn't want to know if Walter had ever gotten a birthday present before. The way he acted, it was his first gift ever. It tore her apart inside to imagine that.


	4. We spoke of many things

The weekend with her family went by quickly, taking Sonja's mind off of Walter's heavy issues for a brief while. They all returned in good spirits, enhanced by the warmth that was not usually characteristic of late March in New York City. Returning to their apartment, Sonja took her travel bag and began unpacking, humming quietly to herself and wondering what her mother would make for dinner.

A quiet knock on the doorframe interrupted her musings, and she turned to see her mother standing just outside the room. "Sonja, I have to talk to you," she said quietly.

Sonja nodded, folding her clothes from the weekend to be washed later. "What is it?"

"Come, sit down," she said, sitting on Sonja's twin-sized bed. Confused, she joined her mother slowly, not liking the wrinkles that had appeared in her forehead. "I just talked to Marietta on the phone. She says that while we were gone, little Walter was involved in a fight."

Sonja thought her heart stopped. "Fight…?"

Mrs. Hamal nodded gravely. "A few boys stopped him on the sidewalk and were making fun of him. They called him 'whoreson.' When one of them mashed a plum into his face, he grabbed one of the boys' cigarettes and stuck it in his eye. He is in the hospital and might never see out of his eye again."

Sonja leaned forward, burying her face in her cold hands. "Oh my God…"

"That is not the end. Walter jumped on another boy and bit his face. He took skin off of the boy's cheek, Sonja, and it took two grown men to pull him off."

Now the tears came, falling softly on the carpet and turning it dark blue. "What happened to Walter, Mom?"

"The police came to talk to Mrs. Kovacs, but since she has been arrested for prostitution, and since the apartment was in such bad condition, they had Walter pack his things and took him away. He is now living in a children's home." Mrs. Hamal rubbed Sonja's back gently. "You can probably go visit him there, but I don't know if you will be able to bring him here anymore."

Sonja was unable to speak for half an hour, holding onto her mother and sobbing into her shoulder. She absolutely could not believe that Walter, who had been smiling and thanking her for the birthday present only days before, had been taken away by police for partially blinding a boy and biting the face of another. She blamed Mrs. Kovacs for everything, for treating Walter like garbage and for selling her body to prompt the boys to make fun of him. And now, she would never be able to bring Walter to the restaurant or to her apartment to help babysit again…

_Why, Walter? In a few years, you could have gotten a job and saved up to move out of that horrible place. You could have shown her just how good of a person you could become. Not this._ Sonja felt like a failure for not trying to help more, for not advising Walter against fighting. Her mother assured her there was nothing she could have done, that it was bound to happen anyway because he'd been living with his mother for nearly eleven years, but Sonja was still so guilty she did not sleep that night.

She looked up the phone number for the children's home the next day after school and called. When she gave her name and relation to Walter, the woman on the other end said warmly, "Oh yes, he mentioned you. We were going to either call or send someone over to drop off a few of his things he wanted you to hang on to. You can come down anytime to come pick them up."

She checked with her mother, who was home for the day with a migraine, and made sure it was all right to visit Walter. And then, confused, she put her coat on (for it was cold outside once more) and went outside to board the subway. With a heavy heart, she remembered that it was March twenty-first, Walter's eleventh birthday.

A heavyset, smiling woman greeted her when she stepped into the building's lobby. "You can visit with Walter in the family room, dear. It's where friends and relatives are able to have a little private time with the children."

He was already waiting when she walked in. He gave her a tight hug, still appearing the same little boy as ever, as if nothing bad had happened over the weekend. She noticed that he wasn't smiling as widely and that his eyes looked slightly swollen and red, but there was nothing drastic like she imagined "problem children" would have.

"Happy birthday, kiddo," she said, smiling as warmly as she could.

"Thanks. I'm glad they let you come visit me."

Sonja followed Walter over to the small couch against the wall, on which sat a small box containing tissue paper. She realized with a start that it was the very same box she had given him before she left, with his birthday present. Sure enough, she pushed the paper aside and saw the familiar journal, still closed with the keys resting on it, and the box of new pencils. None of them had even been sharpened yet.

"I want you to hold onto my journal, Sonja," he said to her, the smile gone completely now. "I really love it, but I don't have any privacy here. They look everywhere. I don't want them to know about me."

She nodded, understanding his wish. "I'll hold onto it as long as you need. Then when you get out of here, you can have it again."

A wrinkle formed in Walter's forehead, then two at the corners of his mouth, and before Sonja could register it, the little redhead had grasped her around the middle and buried his face into her shoulder, sobbing. She was alarmed at his sudden breakdown, but she held onto him and tried to shush him. The sound of Walter sobbing caused a physical ache to blossom in her chest, and she had to try harder than ever not to start crying herself.

"They're…sending me to, to, New Jersey," he finally managed to choke out.

The ache in her chest disappeared as a wave of numbness crushed her. "Some, some home for…problem boys. I don't know w-when I'll be back."

"When, Walter? When are you leaving?"

A sniffle. "Two days."

She rocked him gently, not wanting to believe that he would be leaving. "Don't worry, it's going to be all right. Listen, I have relatives in New Jersey, remember? Maybe I'll be able to come visit you sometime. And you'll be out of there before you know it, if nothing else."

"I don't wanna go, Sonja."

"I know, I know, but they think it would be best for you."

He looked at her with watery eyes, face ridden with guilt. "I hurt those boys because they were making fun of me and my mom. They've done it before, but they never smashed things in my face like they did. I…I wanted to make them hurt as much as I did."

Oh, God. Something twitched in the back of Sonja's mind. A tiny red flag crawled up a toothpick pole at his last statement, telling her that Walter was not as safe and innocent as she believed. True, he had stuck a lit _cigarette_ into a boy's eye, but she told herself that it was out of self-defense to keep from getting beaten up. Now, though…

She rested a hand on his shoulder, as bony and frail as ever, but she knew that he had held down a boy who was reported to be twice his size. "Walter, it's because you hurt them that you're here. And I know you're hurting, but life isn't fair and sometimes we need to deal with that even though it's hard. But there are people now who can take care of you and teach you, and you shouldn't have to deal with any bullies like that again."

He sighed but didn't argue. "I just thought that since superheroes like Nite Owl can beat up bad guys, maybe I'd be a little bit of a hero too. But they just told me I'm a 'problem child.' I don't like that."

"You're not a problem child, or any of the things your mom told you that you were. Don't listen to any of that. You're a good kid, Walter, and someday you're going to be great at whatever it is you decide to do with your life. Just hang on until then."

She smiled just as the heavy woman appeared in the doorway. "I'm afraid we'll have to wrap this visit up, miss. The children are going to get ready for dinner now."

Sonja nodded and stood up as Walter wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt. "Do you have a piece of paper?" she asked the woman. "I'd like to give him my address so we can write to each other when he goes to New Jersey."

She agreed warmly and returned with a pad of paper and a pen. Sonja wrote her address down and handed the piece of paper to Walter. "As soon as you're able to, write me a letter and I'll answer it right away. We'll keep in touch."

He nodded, folding it up several times and putting it in the back pocket of his frayed jeans. "I will."

Sonja knelt down and set the box on the floor before opening her arms to give Walter one last hug goodbye. He hugged her tightly around the neck, smelling like soap and sawdust now, and she gently brushed her fingers over his soft red hair. Never before had she seen a little boy with such vibrant colored hair, and she suspected she never would again. They pulled away and she smiled sadly at him, those big brown eyes eroding her away. "Bye, Walter."

"Bye, Sonja."

She picked up the box once more, bade the friendly woman goodbye, and left the children's home. Only when she reached the sanctum of her bedroom and closed the door behind her did she let the shield fall and she break down into harsh sobs into her pillow.

* * *

When Sonja was able to bring herself to open the journal several days later, after Walter had left for New Jersey, just to check if he had left anything tucked away for her to keep, she was surprised to find writing on the first page. It was written in pen, hence why none of the pencils she had given him were used.

_Sonya,_

_Thank you for being so nice to me lately. I never had any friends before, and when my mom told me you were going to babysit, I thought you would be like one of the cranky ladies who tell me to tie my shoes when I walk down the stares. But you were nicer than I thought and I had a lot of fun with you and your family._

_The police said my mom is a prostitoot, which I guess is the same thing as a hore. They said she doesn't have enough money to raise me and that it's a bad place for a kid, so that's why they took me away. I'm kind of glad, but the people here are fake. I don't want to go to New Jersy. At least your mom didn't talk to me like I was two._

_When I am old enough, I want to get a job and come back to New York. I don't know what I want to be, but I will go to your parent's resterant and maybe see you there. And if you have kids, I can help you take care of them like your brothers and sister. It would be fun._

The journal entry stopped, and Sonja wondered if someone had walked in, interrupting Walter's writing. She forced that little red flag on the toothpick pole to stop waving in her mind, reassured that Walter was not a problem child who needed extensive treatment to get better. He would turn out all right.

She dreamt of plum trees that night.

**A.N.: OK, I know that in the comic, Walter attacks the boys while wearing shorts and a T-shirt, which gives the impression that it was warm outside. However, it was stated in his file that he attacked them at age ten, in July of the year 1951. Since Walter was born in 1940, I've made it so that he did indeed attack the boys in 1951, but right before his eleventh birthday in March, since he would not have been ten in July.**


	5. But very wise was he

A letter arrived from the Lillian Charlton Home for Problem Children in New Jersey the following week with Walter's name on the envelope. Sonja took it to her room and opened it, immediately put off by the "Charlton Home" stamp in the upper left-hand corner of the paper. It looked so official, so…tacky and fake. But Walter's handwriting was clear on the page, and she wondered if anyone else had read it. Probably.

_Dear Sonya,_

_I'm here in New Jersy now. The people are nice, but I'm new and don't know anyone yet. I hope I make some friends soon. I havent heard from my mom yet but that's okay. I feel bad a little because I don't really miss her._

_I start school soon. They have religion classes here, which I think I will like. And gym classes with stuff like gymnastics and boxing and soccer. All we ever did in New York gym class was play dodge ball, so I am exited. I asked one of the ladies working here if you could come visit with your family, and she said it should be okay as long as they do a check on you first. So if you are ever coming here, please call first to make sure._

_Tell everyone in your family that I said hi. I hope you are doing good._

_Walter_

He most likely knew, or at least hoped, that she had read his journal entry and so he kept the letter short and impersonal. Sonja wrote a similarly impersonal letter, writing about school and the restaurant and the weather in New York. She hoped that she would be able to visit Walter sometime in the near future, but her father explained that owning a business wasn't like working for a company, and that days off didn't come very often.

She and Walter wrote back and forth over the next couple of months. He turned out to be enthusiastic about boxing and gymnastics and had a knack for the religion classes he mentioned. Sonja felt that swelling pride whenever she read his letters about doing well in school, and that little red flag in her mind stayed lowered though still present.

In July of 1951, Sonja met a boy who began working in her parents' restaurant as a waiter and with their permission, they began dating in September. She wrote to Walter of this, who seemed distantly interested when he wrote _I'm happy for you._ Her family ended up making a trip up to New Jersey that October, and they made sure to call the Charlton Home in advance to make sure it was all right to visit Walter.

He was happy for visitors, but didn't grin as widely as when Sonja used to show up at his mother's apartment. He had grown an inch or two taller and filled out a little bit, but she still felt his ribs through the buttoned shirt and suit jacket he wore when she hugged him. Walter showed the family around but didn't wave to any of the other children. In fact, all of the other children seemed to ignore him, only looking over at the group following him.

When she had a chance to talk to Walter alone, they sat outside on a bench near the playground where her brothers and sister were. She smiled and said to him, "Do you like it here?"

He nodded. "Yeah, it's pretty nice. They have a lot of rules here, but I haven't gotten in much trouble besides forgetting to make my bed."

"I held onto your journal," she said quietly. "I'm glad you got to write in it before you came here."

Walter toed the grass, shrugging. "I was real upset about the police taking me away. They told me that when I hurt those boys, it wasn't my fault because my mom didn't raise me right. Even though that's probably true, I'm not sorry for what I did."

She frowned, trying not to let that little red flag start creeping up. "You're not?"

He shook his head and said, "No. They were bullies, and eventually someone was going to do what I did anyway. They might have gotten arrested for it. But now, maybe they won't pick on kids anymore."

She didn't like the tone of his voice, distant and unfeeling. He had changed, as much as she hated to admit it. Was it the school, or was it something beyond anyone's control? She didn't know, and she was almost grateful when her father called out and said that it was time to go. Hugging Walter goodbye, she noticed that he didn't grip as tightly as he had only months earlier, and that he didn't hang on nearly as long. He smiled when they separated, but the light in his eyes was gone. She almost wanted to grab him by the shoulders and ask, "Where are you going, Walter? Why?"

But she didn't. She simply said goodbye and turned away.

* * *

Sonja and Walter continued writing letters on a regular basis, keeping each other updated on life. On Sonja's sixteenth birthday, Walter mailed her a hair barrette with a purple flower on it, which she wore the next time she saw her boyfriend Naim. He knew about Walter and understood Sonja's continued communication with him, but he didn't grasp the whole story of their strange friendship and the rainbow of emotions that had flooded Sonja's veins over the course of it. He just thought of them as pen pals.

Months passed, and then eventually years. Sonja graduated high school with good, yet not stellar, grades, and Walter congratulated her on it. She visited him a handful of times over those years and each time, he seemed a little more enclosed. He was never unfriendly, just distracted. She knew that he did not have any close friends at the Charlton home and that he was now starting to look forward to leaving and starting his own life.

She continued to live at home while she attended college in New York City, and she became engaged to Naim at the age of nineteen. Sonja became pregnant in 1956, but had a miscarriage four months in. Walter was informed of it, and he offered his condolences in writing. She never told her parents about the miscarriage and eventually came to think of it as a blessing. She was able to get an associate's degree before she and Naim were married in 1957.

Walter was out of the Charlton Home by that time, and he attended the wedding. She embraced him tightly, all white lace and curly black hair, and he smiled genuinely and told her how pretty she looked. Her heart swelled in that familiar way and she beamed when the wedding photographer took their picture. She told the photographer Walter was the third little brother she never had.

The redhead had grown to a final height of five-foot-six, only two inches taller than Sonja, and now lived once more in New York City. He worked in a tailor shop in town and owned a tiny apartment in one of the city's seedier districts, and he told Sonja he didn't want her to come and visit him. "We can go somewhere else if you want to spend time together," he said to her at the wedding reception. "But some of the neighbors aren't friendly to pretty ladies like you."

She had to admit that at sixteen, Walter hadn't grown into the most attractive young man. Though he didn't have any acne to speak of, his face was sprinkled with freckles that continued down his neck and underneath his shirt collar. His copper hair had been combed back for the event, but still stuck up rebelliously. She offered condolences for his mother's death that occurred recently, but Walter shrugged, not removing his hands from the pockets of his worn-down suit pants. "I haven't spoken to her in years," was all he said.

Life went on for Sonja Fassan. She accepted a job as a Hindi-English translator for a local law firm, and Naim became the head chef in her parents' restaurant. When they retired, it would fall onto him. She worked for two years and then became pregnant again in early 1960. Walter came over to their apartment shortly after she called to inform him of her new pregnancy.

"I'm happy for you," he said, having developed a rather monotone voice over the years. But he still seemed genuine to Sonja.

She smiled, still feeling nauseous. It was a constant those days. "Thanks, Walter. I'm really glad we stayed in touch, you know. I knew things would turn out all right for you."

He shrugged, sipping his coffee, black with three tablespoons of sugar. "All right, but not stellar. I'm worried about crime in this city. And especially now that you've got a little one on the way…"

"Don't worry about me. I avoid all those bad areas."

Walter frowned, red eyebrows drawing close together. "That doesn't make a difference. There are bad people everywhere in this city, and I just want you to be careful. Children shouldn't get hurt."

She smiled, overlooking the coldness of his tone. "I'll be careful, Walter. You'll be an uncle sure enough."

Weeks passed, and Sonja's pregnancy proved to be a difficult one. She had to go on an early maternity leave and was reduced to bed rest five months in. She worried constantly that she would lose the child, but Naim held her hand every day and assured her that everything would be fine. Walter visited here and there, but he never held her hand or promised her anything. He always told her the truth, which was that pregnancy was an extremely complex thing and she shouldn't have assumed it would be easy. She was never comforted by his words, but they sobered her up.

Six months into it, she was starting to have second thoughts about it. She was constantly nauseous and threw up every day, and visited the hospital weekly. Naim was worried sick about her, but Walter never showed too much concern. It was too late for Sonja to do anything other than struggle through every day of her pregnancy, and it was agreed that the doctors would deliver the child as soon as it was healthy enough for both.

By the seventh month, Sonja was barely able to eat. She survived on a cocktail of vitamins and noodles, and was eventually admitted to the hospital. Walter visited but never brought her flowers, though she was glad to see him regardless. He pointed out that although it was strange that her mother had been so easy to bear children yet she wasn't, it wasn't unheard of. He said that fertility could skip generations, or that perhaps Sonja had just been dealt an unlucky hand.

Shortly into her eighth month of pregnancy, Sonja was awoken in the middle of the night by excruciating pain in her abdomen. She called for a nurse, who announced in terror that she was in labor and the baby was coming out too quickly for her body to adjust. It was, in a sense, trying to expel what was ailing it. A doctor rushed in just in time to take the squelching infant and set to work on stopping Sonja's bleeding. However, her body was too weak from not eating and from the stress of pregnancy, and she kept bleeding despite the doctor's efforts. By the time her husband ran in, she was unconscious.

Sonja Fassan never woke up.

**A.N.: Yeah…bit of a bombshell there, but the Watchmen world is not a pretty one. Much thanks again to everyone reading and reviewing; it truly means a lot to me. The story's almost done, probably one more chapter left.**


	6. The greatest thing you'll ever learn

**A.N.: This chapter should probably be rated M because of violence and language, but I don't see fit to change the rating of the entire story because of it. Just be warned. This is also the final chapter, so a big thanks goes out to those who have followed and reviewed my story. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy to see new reviews and hits whenever I post new chapters. Thank you!**

At the funeral, Walter stood in somber silence next to Sonja's brother Amrit, who was his age. He saw her husband Naim biting painfully into his lower lip as he watched his wife lowered into the ground. The child was too young to be released from the hospital, but Walter heard that he was named Rashim Hamal-Fassan. Apparently Naim had wanted to remember his wife by giving their son her last name.

Walter was sad, but not distraught. She had been a good woman, one of the noble souls left in the miasmatic city, and he was sorry to see her go. She would have raised that boy well, just as she had tried to guide Walter. He knew at the age of twelve that even she could not have saved him. He had regained faith in Sonja and her family, but no one else. He didn't trust people, plain and simple, and he knew that they would do the wrong thing by default simply because it was easier. Life was not fair, Sonja had said that, and he knew just how right she was.

He didn't visit her family anymore after the funeral. Why would he? She was the only link to them, and now she was gone. He missed her, mainly because she had faith in him and treated him well, but he accepted the fact that she was gone. He worked almost every day at the tailor shop, becoming buried in his thoughts until he looked up and saw that it was time to go. More time passed.

In 1962, a very special order came in for a dress made out of a new material fashioned to mimic Dr. Manhattan, the world's real-life Superman. Walter was assigned the dress, which was made out of double-layered white latex and contained black ink between the sheets. When he picked up the dress, the inkblots shifted, somehow always symmetrical, but never mixed. He was hypnotized by it. The customer ended up never collecting her dress, and when they called her, she said that it was ugly and she had never really wanted it. That was fine by Walter, and he took it home with him. With heated scissors, he cut the latex so that it sealed right away, getting rid of the straps and the low neckline. It became a tube of latex folded over with those lovely inkblots inside. But he didn't know exactly what he would do with it, and so he put it away in a trunk.

Two more years passed in monotony for Walter, but he never complained. Things were never great, but they were never rotten either. True, he had to read in the paper every day about men robbing banks and killing children, but what could he do? He worked out at the gym, but he would be arrested or killed if he tried to stop the men he read about in the papers. His red hair and stature made him more noticeable, after all.

But then, one day in 1964, he picked up the newspaper and saw the front story: **Woman Killed While Neighbors Looked On**. It continued on to tell the story of Kitty Genovese, a woman who had been beaten, raped, and then murdered outside of her apartment building while dozens of her neighbors hung out of their windows and watched. Nobody called the police. Nobody intervened or yelled out. They just watched, like cruel and listless spectators at a bullfight.

Something stirred inside Walter when he read the name. Kitty Genovese. He recognized it from somewhere…it wasn't just a coincidence. And then it hit him like a bolt of lightning: The woman who had ordered the latex dress. That was her.

In a trance, he returned to his apartment and lifted the beautiful tube of latex that had once had straps for a dress out of his dusty trunk. It was pristine, and the inkblots gathered under his touch. Almost like they knew him. He heated up the scissors again and set to work for hours, meticulously cutting and sewing until he had two perfect masks that would cover his face and go beneath his chin. He held one of them in his hands and watched the ink swim lazily around, always in mirror images. What was it that they called those inkblot tests that psychologists gave to diagnose patients?

Rorschach tests. Symmetrical inkblots pressed into paper. "Tell me what you see," said the doctors. "Your answers will tell me what ails you." Walter held the mask up, admiring his work in the dim light of his apartment.

"Rorschach," he whispered.

* * *

After purchasing a brown trenchcoat, a long cream-colored scarf, a purple pinstriped suit, a brown fedora, purple gloves, and new shoes with padding inside, Walter stood in his apartment, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked ridiculous in the purple suit and elevator shoes, even more so when he wrapped the scarf around his neck. But then he picked up the mask, his beautiful black-and-white façade, and pulled it down over his face. He could see perfectly through the latex, though his eyes could not be seen in the mirror. He donned his fedora and finally pulled on his trenchcoat, tying the sash around his waist.

Rorschach stared back at him. The inkblots on his face swirled around slowly, forming different shapes with each passing second. They stayed away from his nose, but were attracted to the area around his eyes. Pressure sensitive. As he stared, his forehead felt uncomfortably warm, and the inkblots traveled lower, gathering around his eyes and cheeks. Heat sensitive as well.

He felt so _right_. He stared at himself, admiring his reflection for the first time in his life instead of hating it. He imagined the men on the streets, the wicked villains who preyed upon the innocent, and knew they would shrink back in fear at the sight of a face that was white with shifting black on it, telling them exactly what was wrong with them. Walter knew what he could do now.

He removed the costume, folded it up carefully, and carried his inconspicuous package outside to a nearby alley. Nobody saw as he pushed aside a pile of garbage and old newspapers and hid his costume there. He covered it back up, and when he saw that the newspaper was dated 1959, he knew that the spot had not been touched for several years. It was safe.

The next night, as he donned his costume and clenched his fist inside a purple glove, he heard the satisfying creak of the leather and smiled behind the mask. Rorschach was born.

* * *

1974. Rorschach was on his usual rounds with Nite Owl, his partner and the only friend he had. Nite Owl was a gentle man in social contexts, but a brilliant fighter on the crime scene, and he had an unwavering sense of justice. He was extremely bright and loved machinery, and it was he who fashioned the grappling gun that Rorschach used to scale high-rises. Dan Dreiberg, the man under the cowl, was a good man.

They stalked over rooftops, not making a sound in the early June air. It was nearly one in the morning, and the night was ripe with ill intentions. They had already intervened on a carjacking, leaving the criminals unconscious and tied to a streetlight. Rorschach felt good about the night, and he jumped the gap between two buildings with Nite Owl following right after.

"Wait!" the taller man suddenly hissed, grabbing Rorschach's shoulder. "Over there!"

Rorschach followed Nite Owl's pointing finger across the street, where he could distinguish a small group of people moving around. They watched for a moment, and then one of the people shoved another against the wall, and they heard a pained grunt issue from the victim. Seconds later, a panicked yell.

Without hesitating, they scaled the fire escape of their current building down to the ground and raced across the street, staying in the shadows as best they could. When they burst upon the scene, they saw that two teenage boys stood and watched a third hold a younger boy against the wall, a knife to the youth's back. "Don't you back out on this, pussy! You turn us in, and I kill you right here."

"That's enough," Nite Owl barked. The boys looked up in alarm, and the one with the knife pressed it deeper into his captive's spine.

"I'll cut him," he growled, his black eyes shining dangerously. "I'll fucking do it."

"Why? What did he do?" Nite Owl asked calmly. The other two boys were edging backwards, expressions of blatant fear on their faces as they stared at Rorschach.

The boy with the knife shoved the other one harder into the wall, pushing out a wheezy groan of pain. "Nothing you need to know."

Nite Owl stepped forward, and the boy pressed the knife, if possible, even harder into his victim's back. The younger one cried out in pain. "I'll fucking cut his spine! I'm warning you!"

Rorschach studied the angry young man. He was tall, several inches taller than Rorschach, and his dark skin hid him somewhat from the light. He did not have African features, however, more like Indonesian or Arabic. His black hair reflected the faint moonlight that shone down.

"Come on, there's no need for that." Nite Owl was very good at negotiating, and the aggressive boy's nostrils stopped flaring for a second. "You don't want to do that."

"Yes I do," he said quietly. "You are _not_ gonna rat me out."

With a surprising spurt of strength, the youth who was being held captive suddenly lifted his leg and stomped down as hard as he could on the older boy's foot. A bellow of enraged pain cut through the air, and Nite Owl was on him in a second. The knife clattered on the ground as he took the older boy into a headlock and the younger boy went sprinting off, blood running down the back of his white shirt.

"Get off me, you fucking faggot!" the boy roared. "Goddamn it!"

"Easy, easy. Stop it! Guh!" Nite Owl relaxed when Rorschach appeared in front of the boy, putting him into a quiet trance as he studied the mask.

"Bad drug deal?" Rorschach asked.

The boy snarled, baring white teeth that contrasted against his skin. "Not telling you."

Rorschach nodded. "Drug deal. You tried to get him to deal for you, but he backed out. Kids do that. You shouldn't be in that either."

"Oh, like you know how it is! You know what it's like when your dad just lost his business!" he barked.

Something crawled under the skin on Rorschach's neck, and he paused. "How old are you?"

"The fuck does it matter?"

He extended his foot onto the boy's fingers and pressed down enough to cause pain. "How old are you?"

"Urgh…Fifteen. I'm fifteen, okay?"

"Name?"

Nite Owl looked up at him. "Rorschach, this is for the cops to deal with."

"No cops!" the boy burst out. "I can't get arrested!"

Rorschach held his hand up, the inkblots slowing on his mask. "What is your name? Just tell me."

The boy struggled for a moment, but when the masked man's foot did not let up on his fingers, he sighed. "Rashim."

Rorschach's heart stopped for a single beat, and he was grateful for the mask. Suddenly, he found himself looking down into Sonja's face, her dark eyes studying him and seeing past the white latex and black ink. There she was, alive in those eyes.

"Rashim Hamal-Fassan."

The boy's face froze in shock, matching Nite Owl's expression exactly. "How…how the fuck do you know my name, Rorschach?"

"Your mother died while giving birth to you. You are tainting her memory. Dishonoring her with every misdeed you commit. I suggest you clean up your act and start respecting your mother's memory for the noble person she was, otherwise I will find you. And I will honor her instead." His tone was icy in its flatness, and as he spoke the boy's dark skin paled. He was unable to speak.

"Pick up the knife and let's go, Nite Owl," Rorschach said, lifting his foot off of Rashim's hand. He turned and began to walk down the alley, and after a moment he heard Nite Owl release the boy and pick up the knife, then trot after him. When Rorschach glanced back down the alley before turning a corner, he saw Rashim slumped over, sobbing quietly.

"What the hell was that about?" Nite Owl demanded once they had stopped to sit on a rooftop far enough away. "How do you know that kid?"

Rorschach pulled the fedora off his head, tugged the mask up over his nose, and sighed. "I knew his mother…"

He told the whole story of his time with Sonja, how she had been the only person to genuinely care about him in his youth. Nite Owl listened the entire time, entrapped by Rorschach's words, and only spoke once the tale was over. "You might have just changed his whole life. By the looks of it, I don't think he'll be into drug dealing anymore."

Rorschach scratched the stubble on his chin. "I hope not."

* * *

_Rorschach's journal. June 7th__, 1974._

_I may have altered the course of Sonja Fassan's son's life today. He was into dealing drugs because his father lost the family restaurant, but when I stepped on his hand and called him by his name, he listened. I told him that he was shaming his mother's memory, the woman he had never met but who had given her life for him. He wept when I turned the corner at the end of the alley._

_Visiting her grave after I bade Nite Owl good morning, I left a white carnation that I had found lying on the ground at the cemetery gate. Oddly enough, I looked up white carnation. It means remembrance. I hope she sleeps peacefully in her grave, and that wherever she is now, she is not weeping in sorrow as she watches me. She believed in me all those years ago, and I still work in part to honor that memory and make her proud. She was introduced to me as a mere babysitter, and she died calling me "the little brother she never had."_

_I still miss her._

* * *

**A.N.: In this chapter, I've had Dan's name mentioned because I figure he's so trusting and a little lonely, so he probably revealed his identity to Rorschach before he retired, in hopes that Rorschach would reveal his in turn. Of course he didn't, but Dan's ever the optimist. ^_^**


End file.
